


her name is not samantha

by tearrful



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearrful/pseuds/tearrful
Summary: an old little scifi story i wrote a few years back :P





	her name is not samantha

I call her Not-Samantha because... Well, she isn't Samantha.

  
She looks like the original, though. I kind of wonder when they got her in the first place, because I know she wasn't always like this. I noticed her change around three months ago, when I asked her some dumb irrelevant question and her answer just wasn't... It wasn't a Real-Samantha answer. I didn't want to try and press it or investigate that much because I knew that would only mean trouble. As in, I might be upgraded, like her. I forget the actual name for the type of android but I do know that the originals never make it. Something about how they transfer the brains, though. I think that's a lie.

  
They did a really good job with her skin. It's not that cheap soft plastic crap that's coated in cheaper paint that peels after a few months, like the older models use. The fact that they're starting to blend in easier is unnerving, but of course, the company doesn't usually mention what they change. Unless they're trying to hook new clients. Or if the government regulations force them to, which, since they work so closely with a bunch of the politicians, rarely happens. The only real advertisements I've seen that show off the androids are all super old, back when they used it to help people who lost a lot of function in their bodies, or if they were dying and their family had enough money to pay, or if they were old and rich and wanted to keep that fortune for longer than they already had. For some of those people , the life-extenders weren't cutting it, I guess. They became outdated. It barely saved the human body. I think that was a lie made so people would be willing to give up more cash for these things, but I'm not sure and I don't care. Later on, they used it for more... Pure? More pure purposes. I guess that's how they wanted to make it sound. They would reform criminals, ones who had done the real bad shit and had made national news, and they were also starting development on special ones for soldiers so that they could keep fighting. I never liked what that kind of entailed, but if I say that then I'm a bad person and probably someone to keep an eye on. So I don't say anything about it.

  
I think this is the first time I've actually had to deal with this sort of thing, face to face. I mean I've cared about it, like the other skeptical ones, but I've never had to actually interact with an android like this. I don't like it, either, yet I can't say anything. I never can. If Not-Samantha had known that I knew she wasn’t Real-Samantha, then I might be recommended to be updated like her, or something. Which kind of baffles me, really. How did she even get like this in the first place? She worked as a receptionist for our senator, who had openly undergone the process of becoming a droid, but I can't think of why he would make her become one too. I guess that's just how it works now. If you feel like you're better than someone then you want to make them like you, so you can say you were the first and that you're just guiding them to a better life. Some crap like that. How does that work if it isn't the actual person? A copy, you could argue, if they really do save the brain, but still. I don't understand. I think that's what makes me the most afraid.

  
But back to Not-Samantha. She's... Kind of different from other androids. She looks more human. They must've done something that makes her chest expand like a normal human's does. I don't really know how but they did do it. I can tell now, while I have her stuck on the ground, that she would be scared if she were actually feeling anything. I can't help but touch the side of her torso, where her ribs would be, feeling them shift out then in again and again. It's so weird, so unnerving that I can feel each synthetic bone. I have to stop for a moment and think real hard, because if this is actually Real-Samantha and not Not-Samantha then I'll be in even deeper trouble than I already will be for what I'm doing. So I turn her head and push it down against the cold floor to look at the back of her neck, and I lift her ponytail up and sure enough I can see the seamless stitching of fake hairs into her fake scalp and the little panel on the base of her skull. There's no pores and no hairs next to or on it. Now I'm sure, really sure, that she is, in fact, Not-Samantha.

  
"How long?" I ask, letting her hair fall back into place, but not before running my fingers through her ponytail. It's smooth and silky like Real-Samantha's hair was, but when I pinch it, it makes me think of a wig. When I pull a hair out she doesn't wince or acknowledge it.

  
"I can't tell you that," is the response, and hearing her voice makes me want to press down on her neck to see if the voicebox is there. I wonder, briefly, if the synthesizer is sturdy, or if it would crack and turn to static if I try to crush it. I don't, because I don't like how violent it would be, even if I'm dealing with someone unfeeling.

"You can," is my response, because we both know that she won't be getting out of this until I get what I want. I gently put my hand on her cheek, moving her head to face me, and I look into her eyes. Her wonderfully crafted, wonderfully fake eyes. Dark brown, like rich soil, but not as deep as Real-Samantha’s eyes were. She closes them and turns her head again and I sigh. I don't know why but it makes me a little sad. "They can't watch from in here. I know because my uplink can't connect, so that means they won't see whatever you're filming until you get out. So you won't get hurt."

  
Her lips purse. I'm a little fascinated by it - they even managed to program small details like that. She knows I'm right, but she doesn't like the fact. "Then after I'll get into trouble."

  
"You won't, if you delete it. They let you do that, don't they? Or you could let me handle it, since... I'm guessing you already know that I plan to check out your system. That's why I waited until you were in your sleep cycle before I powered you down. They won't notice if there's missing footage." I stare at her freckles that they added. It's so subtle and I can't actually remember if Real-Samantha had them but since Not-Samantha has them I'm almost convinced.

  
Almost.

"... You were never good at hacking." Her voice is terse but confident and it makes anger bubble up inside of my chest.

  
"How would you know?"

  
She doesn't reply so I grab one of the plasma multitools that I brought and I flick it on. She doesn't really like seeing it, I can tell, because she tries to shift but it's hard since her legs and arms aren't functional. I slam it down into the floor, where a good few inches get in and stick, and I'm hovering above her now.

  
"I said, _how would you know?_ " I hate Not-Samantha. I hate how she tries to be real. I hate how Real-Samantha is gone and how they put this... This piece of metal in her place.

  
She closes her eyes and moves her head away again. She can't answer and that leaves me satisfied.

  
I flip her over, next, so that her stomach is on the ground. It's a little harder with her arms and legs off but I manage. Straddling her back, I pick back up the multitool, trying to pick which one I would need for this.

  
"Tell me how long," I say, my voice softer. I don't know why it is. Maybe I'm just so stressed and tired that I can't think properly, but I know that isn't the case because I find the right tool and use it to pry open the panel on her back. There's a soft humming that comes on, coolers under her skin trying to lessen the heat. It's too late, with some black and molten substance pooling right below the little panel. "And you'll be doing us both a favor." When I get it all the way open, there's a few small keys. I press them in sequence, and I'm rewarded with a soft hissing and a few clicks that come from under her shirt, by her shoulder blades. I'm close to what I need.

  
"When did you first notice?" I don't like how she challenges me with the question, but I don't snap at her about it as I roll her shirt up and undo the bra she wears. I can see the bigger compartment, right smack between her shoulder blades, and I have to use my tool again to cut away the synthetic skin so I can get it all the way open. More coolers flick on - I can feel my fingers stiffen from the chill.

  
"May."

  
"How... Observant."

  
"Tell me how long." I can't really threaten her. I've already destroyed most of her fake skin, so there's not much else I can do. Except say I'll leave her stranded down here, but I don't want to be that cruel, even if I hate her.

"April. Five days before the month ended." A pause, a crack and shift in her voice. "They'll kill us both if they find out I've told you. I'll be scrap and you'll go what Samantha went through."

  
This gives me a little hope. Maybe Real-Samantha isn't totally gone.

  
"I don't care," I mutter, and I've finally managed to make a holovid feed come up. The keyboard in her back is solid, though, and the loud clicks of it make me uncomfortable. My fingers aren't really used to it. "I'm leaving after this. After I get what I want I'm going to wipe the vidfeed of this entire meeting. It'll be like a dream, or something, if you even know what those are."

  
"They'll find out, somehow. They always do." Her voice is quiet, sad, synthesised. It's fake. I don't want to give her my pity, I really don't, but she gets it anyway.  
"They really won't. I know what I'm doing. You can run, too, become your own person of something. There's ways to do it if you look hard enough." I brush my fingers over the edges of the burnt substance on her back. "It'll look like you got mugged. Not your fault." She grunts.

  
"What do you plan on doing? There's nowhere to go. No one to go to. And they told me to put a bug into your uplink, you know, so they can see what you're doing."

  
I pause, and the loud clicking of the room stops. I can't tell if Not-Samantha is bluffing or not. I don't trust her enough to ask where the bug is, let alone to remove it.

  
"Good for them," I finally say, resuming my typing, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve." Now it's my turn to bluff, but not entirely. I do have some people that could help me with the bug, if she's not lying about it. Some friend (not really a friend) sold de-linkers, pills with nanobots they coded themself, that removed bugs and uplinks from your system. Safely. A lot of people died when their uplinks got deactivated.

  
"What's your goal?" Her mouth doesn't move when she asks. I can tell because her chin is pressed flat to the ground and her head doesn't move when she speaks. "There's no point to this. No good thing to come out of it. We can walk away, and I can say that it was a dream after I got hit by some mugger, something that triggered Samantha's residual conscience." I don't like how she has to clarify that it's residual. "Why are you doing this?"

  
Not-Samatha needs to shut up. I know how to make her do it, and it has to do with my "goal" in the first place. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a tiny drive. I stick it into one of the ports, and she stiffens.

  
"You took Samantha away from me," I say, honestly. “I loved her. And you aren't her." A few more keystrokes and I'm where I need to be. There's a current feed that slides onto the holovid, of what she sees, of what she hears. I reach out to touch the projection and it registers, and then I pinch my fingers around the vid and squash it like a bug. It closes and deletes and I can tell from how Not-Samantha makes a strangled noise, her head lolling around uselessly for a few moments, that she can't hear or see me. I can do what I need to do now.

  
The manual said that there would be firewalls guarding the little bit of memory space set aside that held the conscience of whoever the androids were based off of, that a silent alarm would go off if I even tried to mess with it. I guess that it's either a lie or that it doesn't work offline because nothing happens when I get in. It's scary how easy it is.

  
I let my fingers hover over a little icon that says simply "sqj-original.cpl". Her initials.

  
Not-Samantha speaks up.

  
"I want to live..."

  
She knows I can't reply to her, since she can't hear me. She keeps talking anyways.

  
"I am Samantha, I'm still here. I'm... I'm just newer, that's really all, I'm just a newer version of her - of me... I still have my own ambitions, my own dreams, my loves... Please, please don't take those away from me."

  
I open it. It's some sort of data feed. It fluctuates, and I have to stop. It looks like Real-Samantha's fear, like she can tell what's going on.

  
"I loved you, too." Her voice is high, flighty.

  
I exit out of it. I grab the file and pinch it.

  
"I still do!"

  
It's a lie. I know it is.

  
I put the files onto the thumb drive. With a whimper and some high pitched whirring, Not-Samantha becomes a limp shell underneath me. I grab her head, twist it carefully so I can look. Her eyes are glassy, glazed, but in her pupils I see reversed error screens. She'll be fine, just not... Not-Samantha. I don't know what she'll be now, since it’s not something I can decide.  
I pull out the drive and force every panel I had opened back closed. I don't have much time before she reboots, with a vengeance and working limbs. I'll be dead if I can't get out before she does. I tie her wrists together behind her back, with thick wire cables, then I move her to a stall in the abandoned bathroom we were in. The doors and walls are floor-length, so she might have trouble getting out, especially since I use another cable to bind her to the toilet. I lock the door from the inside and crawl over the top, and take a moment to look in the mirror.

  
I'm a mess. The skin on my face is peeling, revealing the ugly metal and mesh wiring underneath. I'm not much better than Not-Samantha was, because I'm exactly like her. Except I'm more human, I guess, since I have my human parts, both physically and mentally. I push it back into place, then I put on my camomask, then the biking helmet I snagged. Maybe it was when someone else did this to me that I became like this. I'm not sure; it’s been too long since the initial surgery. Real-Samantha and I met after I had gotten it, and though I never told her about it, she always made me feel fully human again.

I grab my stuff and lock the door of the bathroom behind me as I sprint across the parking garage. No one really used these things anymore, since hovercars became more widely available. The elevator is one of the ancient ones, that used motors and pulleys and cables, and as I step on I actually get scared that it might fall. I press the buttons to go up, holding the straps of my bag. There are people waiting for me. Lots of them. I think they like me because I'm something new to them - I'm truly human and machine, an actual cyborg and one that can reason with them - a machine that's on their side and won't rat them out for what they're doing. That might be why Not-Samantha never noticed that I was kind of like her, since I wasn't stupid enough to force the personality I already had.

  
The doors start to slide close when I hear a pained screech, and it alarms me. I can't believe she got up so fast. It was a few days before I got up after someone had fried my servos. I reach my hand into my pocket, and run my thumb over the drive, hidden inside the stitching of the seam.

  
I already have what I need, so I don't do anything as the elevator finally begins its trip to the surface.


End file.
